


Letters of the Lost and Found

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Bullying, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, religion portrayed in a less than positive light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is sixteen and spending a month at a Christian military training academy trying to be who his parents wants him to be. It proves a lot harder when Darren comes along. </p><p>Written for the CCBB, <a href="http://overcaustically.tumblr.com/post/148476459882/my-art-for-the-ccbb-fic">go check out @caustically's art</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters of the Lost and Found

**Day One**

Dear Grandma, 

Last night I couldn’t sleep. 

I never can, really. But last night it was especially hard. All I could think about was how my bags were packed by the door, and how the car had a full tank of gas. I kept looking at my calendar and seeing the days blocked off. 

Four weeks. 

Twenty eight days. 

It doesn’t seem like a lot. That summer I stayed at your house for two whole months and looking back it feels like it wasn’t any time at all. You taught me how to make my own cereal so I wouldn’t bother you in the mornings and I’d watch The Price is Right with you and get excited when you did, and in the evenings sometimes you’d give me a dollar when the ice cream truck came by and then I’d eat it while you watched Jeopardy and once in awhile I even knew an answer. You always acted like I was so smart when I got one right - you were probably laughing at me, weren’t you? But it didn’t feel like that. It just felt like you were proud of me. 

That was two months and this is only three weeks, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go, Grandma. Three weeks is forever. Three weeks of having to listen to sermons and shake people’s sweaty hands and spend day after day being tested on something I feel like I could never do no matter how much I’m yelled at for not being able to. 

It feels like pretending. I used to love pretending, didn’t I? I’d make up stories all the time and they were always about me doing really cool things or being someone else. It’s not so nice when you feel like you have to do it every day and you’re not ever allowed to stop. Now I still make up stories but they’re about other people. 

I’m in the car right now. Hannah’s asleep beside me, holding her doll. Mom’s in the front seat knitting. The lines are always crooked, no matter how many things she knits. I’m sure I’ll get another scarf by the time the temperature drops again. 

The camp is four hours away. I have my Bible to read. Do you remember the year you went with us to Big Sandy? You stayed with your cousin in Houston while we were at the conference. You sat in the backseat with me. It took two days and Dad kept trying to play sermons on cassette in that old Mercury Tracer he had, and you would fuss at him to put some real music on. I don’t think you liked it very much, since you didn’t go back with us the next year, and the year after that Hannah was here and with a baby suddenly Texas seemed like too far away to drive for Mom and Dad. 

I’m not sad we stopped going to Big Sandy. I don’t remember it being that bad, but the last year everyone was old enough that the other kids started making fun of me more. I think if I’d kept going it would have just gotten worse. 

It would have been like camp now. 

Why do Mom and Dad even call it a camp, Grandma? It’s more like a prison. Or I guess “Academy” according to the pamphlets that come in the mail every year. An academy to train boys into “Godly young men” - because we need purpose and direction and practical life skills or we might stray from the Lord’s path. 

I could recite the speech by memory now. They make it sound great for the parents orientation and then as soon as all the moms and dads are gone, it’s like all the adults forget how to be human beings. Mom and Dad don’t see the dried blood under my fingernails or the bruises or know what it’s like when an instructor is kneeling behind you breathing hot and disgusting on your neck because you can’t fix a car engine as fast as the boy beside you. 

Mom always says how beautiful the lands are. They’re not that beautiful when you’re almost crying because you’ve had to run laps around the field for three hours as punishment for coming in last on something, or when you’re dumped in the middle of that picturesque forest with barely enough gear to survive and told that no one will come for you until morning. 

Maybe the grass is green and the trees are tall and the water on the lake glistens when the sun hits it. But this “camp” never taught me how to appreciate nature. It just taught me that life is cruel and so are other people. 

Dad said we’re stopping for lunch soon, so I’ll end this letter now. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Two**

Dear Grandma, 

I said goodbye to Mom and Dad and Hannah yesterday. They hugged me and Hannah told me she was excited because now she can watch whatever films she wants at home. She gets mad because I don’t want to watch the stupid Veggie Tales VHS tapes seven times on repeat. They’re the only ones Mom lets us have, and even with those we aren’t allowed to watch except in the family room and only with her or Dad there. I’d rather just watch nothing. 

I survived my first day back. I guess. I recognize some of the instructors from last year. The one I got assigned to isn’t the worst. That still means he’s terrible, but I don’t think he’s ever singled me out for punishment by himself. Maybe it won’t be too bad. 

Orientation still took seven hours, though. We aren’t supposed to bring very much with us. They give us these big canvas military backpacks when we show up. The backpacks have our names stitched onto fabric squares on them. I think they just tear the square off and replace it every year. It’s not like I’d really want to keep it and take it home with me anyway though. They’re hideous. 

They’re also really heavy. The same stuff was in it this year as last year. Prayer booklets, required reading material, a sheet, a blanket, a pillow case. I think the bag all my stuff was in weighed more than I do, and they make us hike from the orientation spot where we get dropped off all the way to the cabins. It’s three miles away but it feels like more when you’re holding that much stuff. 

There’s a plastic bag with stuff like a toothbrush, toothpaste, a bar of soap, a razor, and deodorant. Did you know we only get fifteen minutes in the bathroom each morning? We have to appear neat and well-groomed for morning prayers but the bathrooms are only open for fifteen minutes and we’re supposed to self-regulate. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean but what it actually means is that I brush my teeth dry and spit outside because this camp operates on a hierarchy of brute musculature and arrogance and Grandma, I am sad to report that second growth spurt you told me was coming never actually came. Maybe I’m still just a ‘late bloomer’ like you told me, but unless it happens overnight then I’m screwed. 

Sorry. Language. 

I don’t even know why orientation actually takes that long. I think they just keep us waiting on purpose. They would probably say it’s a ‘test of endurance’ if I asked. Or… maybe they’d just punish me for asking. They’re not really big on keeping the foot soldiers well-informed. We’re supposed to be efficient when they tell us to be efficient and all the rest of the time we’re supposed to be patient, even though it doesn’t really make any sense. 

When I got back to my bunk my bag was waiting for me on my bed. They go through all your stuff here before you can keep it. Mom had to order my uniforms last month so that we could make sure they fit me, so that’s all there was in my bag. There are khakis and collared shirts for Bible study and uniforms to wear when we are doing field work. They’re all gross. They’re the color of the oatmeal you used to make me every morning. 

You’re allowed to bring a personal item too but I didn’t even try this year, Grandma. Last year I had a notebook and they let me keep it but every time I tried to write in it someone would come and do an accountability check to make sure I wasn’t writing inappropriate things. I was smart this year, Grandma. All I brought was my Bible and a pen but I filled the Bible with pieces of paper and I made sure every piece of paper in the Bible had a verse written on it so none of them seem blank. A few of them have lots of Bible Study notes so that if someone does an accountability check I can just show them that. It’s a good plan, right? I think it will work. I still have to do my actual journaling because that’s part of how they evaluate you here but Mom makes me do that at home anyway, every night after dinner but before we say prayers. I could do that in my sleep. 

Is this a bad way to feel? Is it wrong that it feels like I’m just really good at pretending? 

I’m trying to look for the sunshine, Grandma. You always used to tell me to do that. You never said how hard it is sometimes.

Love,  
Chris

* 

**Day Three**

Dear Grandma, 

This morning I woke up as the sun rose. There was an alarm that wouldn’t stop going off and I laid in bed with my eyes shut hoping that when I opened them I’d be home again. It didn’t work. You’re probably not surprised. 

I waited and showered last and I don’t think I got all the shampoo out of my hair, but I wasn’t late and no one called me names and accused me of looking too long. Maybe they’re just on their best behavior right now. I’m sure they’ll start to feel comfortable soon, and the tormenting will start. 

Breakfast is as fantastic as I remember. I really think they just take those things the military uses and dump the contents on a plate. Nothing that’s supposed to be hot is ever more than warm and nothing that’s supposed to be cold is ever more than tepid. It’s all bland and unseasoned. I lose weight at camp every year. The instructor last year reported that to Mom like it was something to be proud of. I think the words he used were, “He’s getting off his rear and being active.” I think it’s more likely because I can’t stomach anything they serve at meal times. The only things that are half decent are the protein bars we’re given when they send us out on overnights, or as extra on days they have us working dawn until dusk. I bet there’s some kind of standard minimum calorie count they have to meet. Those don’t really have any flavor, but I’d rather eat cardboard than mush. 

What I’d really like is for you to make me that baked chicken lasagna you used to make when I was a kid. Or maybe that squash soup that you’d serve in winter. I miss that. I even miss how sometimes when I’d stay with you, you’d just look at me and you’d grin and ask me if I wanted to make some mischief and have pizza for dinner. Looking back I’m not sure how pizza counted as mischief but it always felt like we were getting away with something we weren’t supposed to be doing. Those were probably just days when you didn’t feel like cooking, but you made it fun. 

Some of the people in my unit were here last year, but some of them are new. The ones that I recognize mostly look happy. They talk to each other. I don’t get how anyone can be happy here. Those people must not have any secrets at all. How are there people walking around that don’t feel like they have demons whispering right in their ears? I wish I knew how they do it. 

After breakfast we go back to our bunks for morning Bible study. There are no unit instructors, just us cadets and our Bibles. We’re supposed to keep each other accountable. After that they send us to an hour of seminar where we talk about scripture and discuss what we studied the hour before. There are enough of us in the room that no one has to talk for all that long, which is good. It’s kind of just like being in church on Sunday morning except every day, and we don’t have to dress up as much. 

After that we go to physical training. We spent three hours every morning doing whatever kind of torturous workout they decide to put us through. We never know what will come that day. At least a couple of days a week it’s a hike. The hikes are horrible. Toward the end there’s always one that goes all night. I still have nightmares about that. At least it’s a few weeks away. 

Lunch is basically the same thing as dinner. They don’t even let us add salt, Grandma. It’s an actual crime. 

In the afternoon is practical training. That changes every day, or at least every few days. I remember it from last year. Sometimes it’s okay and sometimes it’s awful. Sometimes it goes on and on into night, depending on what they’re having us do. But in the evenings we have more Bible study, in our unit groups with our unit instructor. He always finds some way to tie in our physical training into a Bible verse. That’s what Dad says he likes best about the camp. He says it’s got a purpose. 

Some of the new kids look really upset or confused. I wonder if their parents didn’t really know where they were sending them? Or maybe those kids just never believed their parents would want to send them somewhere like this. Maybe I should feel bad for them, but I don’t think I have the energy to. At least they don’t know what’s coming. I feel worse for myself. Is that bad, Grandma? Should I have more kindness in my heart? 

I’m sorry. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Four**

Dear Grandma, 

It’s my fourth day at camp. 

Someone pushed me down in the showers this morning. I was late and I had to run extra laps. I almost don’t mind laps. My legs hurt all day long but it’s twenty minutes of being away from the herd of cattle that is our unit groups. It gives me time to think when no one else is shouting instructions at me. 

I’m sure they’d tell me I needed to be contemplating the Lord’s Word or my own behavior that results in shortcomings, but instead I thought about home. 

I miss it, Grandma. I’m homesick. I miss Mom making me breakfast every morning and Bible Study with Dad after dinner. It’s like we do the same things here but so, so differently. I miss Mom hugging me and telling me she loves me before bed every night, and Hannah sneaking into my room because she wants an extra bedtime story. 

The things that make me feel bad here… they still make me feel bad at home. But it’s more dangerous here, because I know Mom and Dad love me even if they’re disappointed in me. They want the best for me. These people are supposed to want the best for me too, but it feels more like they’re just trying to scare me into being better instead of guiding me. 

Which one is right, though? I think the Bible says both things, so how does one person know better than another which parts are right? I wish I had someone around I could actually ask that. I think if I questioned the Bible to Mom she’d probably start crying, and I don’t know what Dad would do but I don’t think I want to find out. I want them to keep loving me, Grandma. If they stopped I wouldn’t have anyone at all. 

Thinking about this makes my head and my heart both hurt. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Five**

Dear Grandma, 

I’ve been here a week now. 

There’s a really strange boy here. He wasn’t here last year. I don’t know his name yet. I’d have to look at his uniform to see what it is and, well… I try not to look directly at any of the boys here. It just makes life easier for me if I don’t give them any ammunition. 

But this boy looks at me, and it’s weird. Do you think he knows, Grandma? 

How could he? He hasn’t come to shove me down or scream in my face or tell me I’m going to Hell, which is usually what happens when people figure it out. No matter how much I tell them they’re wrong - not that I even do that much anymore. I learned that fighting back, even with my words, just makes them angrier. It’s easier if I let them get it out of their system. Turn the other cheek - that’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Matthew 5:39. It’s funny how the Bible seems to tell everyone that reads it what they want to hear. It tells people exactly who to hate and describes all sorts of awful things that get done to sinners, but then it tells you not to fight back when someone is smiting you. I guess it’s a good thing all those preachers think they’ve figured out exactly what it means, or else us poor sinners reading it would just be completely lost, right? Either way, this new guy doesn’t seem like any of the other guys here. 

He’s so strange. He isn’t home-schooled like most of the rest of us and he’s never been to a camp like this before. His mom is from the Philippines, so I guess he’s not really white, either. Some of the other guys gave him really mean looks and asked if he was an illegal and he just laughed and said he was ‘San Fran born and bred.’ I wanted to tell him I went to San Francisco once, but we just took pictures by the bridge, we didn’t really stay. Dad said it wasn’t the kind of place that was suitable for us. I didn’t really know what he meant then because I was a kid but now I think he probably meant it the same way he does when we’re walking through a shopping center and he makes me look at my shoes because an immodest girl is walking by. 

Then he started to talk about what it was like where he was from but the instructor interrupted him. They don’t really encourage oversharing in our courses. We’re supposed to stick to the chosen study topics. Today’s study topic is supposed to be about honoring and obeying parents. 

I would much rather have liked to hear him keep talking, though. I don’t know much about the Philippines, but I’d like to. We used to have an old set of Encyclopedias at home from when my Dad was my age and sometimes I’d hear a word when we were out or on the radio and I’d want to know what it meant so I’d go and find it in one of the huge, heavy books and read all about it. Then one day Mom caught me looking up dinosaurs and she got really mad at sat me down and we had a lesson in how sometimes books have the wrong facts and it’s important to make sure that when we learn something we are learning from the right book. She asked me what the right book was and even then I knew the right answer was always The Bible. 

The Encyclopedias went away not long after that. I don’t have much of a chance to look things up on my own anymore, so I guess I’ll just add the place Darren’s mom is from to the long list of things that I’ll try to find out about one day. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Six**

Dear Grandma, 

I feel like I only write letters to you to that are horrible. That must make you sad. So here is a list of some things that aren’t so bad here: 

I’m good at the agility course. They all expect me to be awful at it but most of the guys who have already hit their growth spurts struggle with going under and through things. I’m still small enough that it isn’t as hard. I came in third in my unit and the instructor was forced to tell me that I did good. I think he hated it. 

Sometimes they bring demonstration units out. There was a helicopter once, and a firetruck once. It’s part of our emergency services training. They talk up how good it is to go into jobs like being a policeman or a fireman. They talk about how you can get courses at “approved” schools or how you don’t need courses at all because you get training through an academy and they talk about how this camp will prepare us. Military officers come to talk to us too but they don’t bring anything cool with them. They just bring guns, and I don’t like it when they make us train to use the guns. 

I am good at the tire course, too. I don’t have as much stamina as some of the other guys who do sports with their churches but I can always make it through the first run without tripping. I like how it feels when I finish the course and know I didn’t fail or quit. 

Sometimes during Bible study they have us discuss and act out skits. It feels a little like the community theater that Mom used to let me go to back when you were still… back when I was a kid. 

When we do classes in the classroom we’re supposed to take notes and that’s when I have time to write to you, so that’s nice. 

I’m sorry my letter to you today is so short, Grandma. My time for writing today is almost up. It took me the entire last hour and a half to come up with those things. 

Love,  
Chris

 

*

**Day Seven**

Dear Grandma,

His name is Darren. He came and talked to me today. He likes to talk a lot. I don’t mind, though. I like listening to him. I think it’s weird how he talks and talks and talks and they don’t really tell him to shut up unless it’s because an instructor is about to talk. 

I think listening to him made me feel better because he was talking about things that weren’t church or Christ or training. He talked about music, mostly. There’s a choir group here and he’s trying out for it. I thought about it last year but I decided it was probably better not to do anything that would make me stand out. The choir only meets once a week, on the free period that we get on Saturday, and all they really do is prepare something to sing on the final day when they put together a whole program and do speeches about how much we’ve learned and have a sermon and pray, always praying. Singing might be better than praying but I know I sound like a girl. I don’t need to hear them tell me that, I’ve heard it often enough from the choir teacher at the church group that I go to with my family every Sunday. The teacher there is an old lady with mean eyes who tells my Mom she ought to take me to the doctor because it’s not natural for a boy my age to sound so much like one of those sissies. 

Darren will probably do great at the choir, though, if he’s got as much experience with singing as he says he does. Maybe he’ll go to their first meeting and make new friends with all the people that don’t like me. Maybe this time next week he’ll be trying to steal things off my plate and giving me that look like he’s daring me to say something just so he can make it sound like I’m being gluttonous and wanting seconds. 

I wouldn’t want seconds of anything they serve here anyway. Mom’s cooking is definitely one of the things that I miss about being at home. 

Speaking of home - I had a dream that I was home again. I don’t know if it the dream even made me feel better or, or if it just made me feel worse. I love Mom and Dad and I love Hannah but being at home is exhausting because I still feel like I’m lying all the time, the way I do here, but I don’t feel as bad for it here. Sometimes I think about what would happen if Mom or Dad found my secret out. Mom would cry so much, wouldn’t she? And they might send me away somewhere even worse than this. 

I don’t want to make Mom cry. 

I don’t want Dad to be mad at me. 

I’m trying, Grandma. I’m trying to do what the Bible says, even if I don’t always like it. It doesn’t feel right, but nothing else feels right either. And maybe it’s not supposed to. Maybe no one else feels right in their own skin either, maybe they just all understand they’re not supposed to, and I’m just really weak for wishing this were easier. 

I’m so confused, Grandma. And I’m sorry. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Eight**

Dear Grandma, 

One of the other boys broke his leg today. He was supposed to be setting up a pulley rig that his unit was using to demonstrate a rescue scenario and something snapped while he had his full weight into pulling it taut. He screamed and his leg looked so funny and the instructors just yelled at him - it was quiet, but it was still yelling. They told him to be a man and that he needed to ask for the Lord to take his pain and the medic would be on the way. 

They just kept telling him to pray, and he was, but I don’t think his leg hurt any less. I don’t think God was going to unbreak it. They told him to keep praying and turn the pain into strength and then they just left him there. I know the medic was coming and they just didn’t see any point in staying with him since there was nothing they could do, but - they left him there alone. 

Darren ran away from what he was doing to help the cadet with the broken leg. His instructor ordered him back in line and I thought Darren was actually going to yell at him. He looked so upset. He kept asking what was going to happen, and what kind of place was this even, and called them cruel. 

My unit was finished by then and we had to move away - I think they were just trying to get us away from the injured cadet. I don’t know him, but I hope he’s okay. 

I hope Darren’s okay, too. Because, you know what I was saying yesterday, about thinking maybe I was weak and everyone else just knew how to pretend to be strong? If that’s true, I don’t think he knows how to pretend, either. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Nine**

Dear Grandma,

Today wasn’t a very good day. 

Love,  
Chris 

*

**Day Ten**

Dear Grandma, 

Today there was a storm so bad that they wouldn't let us outside in the afternoon. We had to do physical training in the morning even though the ground was soggy but we were allowed to change into clean dry clothing after that for lunch and then they put us all in the big worship center and split us into groups and gave us different handout assignments. 

I think they weren’t really prepared for that, to be honest, Grandma. It was kind of a disorganized mess. But they weren’t making us split up by units. They called it a ‘team building effort’ and had us talk to people we didn’t really know. 

That terrified me at first because I didn’t really think there was anyone in there that I wanted to have a conversation with - except for one person, and there was no way things would work out in my favor that well. But… they did. 

I got put with Darren and - Grandma, he’s so cool. We were supposed to be talking about positive role models in our life and we did a little bit - he told me about his dad and his big brother, and I told him about my dad. But he talks so much and every time he’d start on one topic he would end on a completely different one. I didn’t really care. He had a lot of really fun things to say. I got to ask him about the Philippines, like I wanted last week, and he told me about the time he went to visit and meet his cousins. He told me some about San Francisco too and how he plays musical instruments and even has a band that his brother plays in and sometimes they let him play bass. I didn’t really know what a bass was but he described it to me and he even sketched it out. He can’t really draw well so it looked funny but he said that when camp was over he’d email me some youtube videos of himself playing different things so I’d know what they all were. (I think he also just wanted to show off, too.) 

I didn’t tell him that I’m not allowed to have an email account, or that our computer is in the main room and I’m not allowed to use youtube unless Mom or Dad is in the room with me. Sometimes they pick out videos that will help me in my school lessons but mostly they get the materials from Christian homeschooling resources that the church approves. I don’t really know how I’d go about convincing them that a teenager playing music I’m probably not allowed to listen to would be beneficial to my education. 

I couldn’t tell him that, though. Not when he looked so excited. 

I’ll figure something out. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Eleven**

Dear Grandma,

Do you remember a couple of days ago when I didn’t write you a letter? And all I said was that it wasn’t a good day? 

Today was an even worse day, but I’m ready to talk about it now, I think. Two of the other boys in my unit kicked and hit me a little. I don’t even know why they did it. I don’t think they had a reason, or felt like they needed one. It hurts, Grandma. The bruises hurt on my knees where they pushed me down into the gravel and my side hurts where one of them kicked me. My hands are raw. Rope climbing is going to be miserable. I wonder if the instructors would let me tape my hands up? Probably not. 

It could have been worse, I guess. It would have been, except Darren showed up. He distracted them and I ran. I ran so hard and so far that I still feel like I can’t catch my breath. He chased me though. He’s shorter than me, I don’t know how he’s so fast. But he caught up to me and he asked me what happened and he seemed upset that I was hurt. 

I don’t really know what he wants from me. I was upset and everything hurt and I guess I kind of wondered if he was following behind them to finish this job because I yelled at him a little. I just wanted him to go away. I wanted to be alone until I could breathe without wanting to cry. 

It didn’t work. I cried anyway. Why do I cry so easily? It’s so embarrassing. Sometimes I cry when Dad is yelling at me, and Mom tells him that the Lord blessed me with a generous and loving heart. But then she tells me to go upstairs until I can compose myself, so I don’t know really know if even she believes it. 

Darren didn’t go away when I told him to. He just sat there beside me until I was done crying and then he asked me if I was okay and said he’d come with me to the medic. I told him no a hundred times but he’s stubborn and I gave up. I made him swear not to tell them that the other boys did it to me, though. The medic is a man (there aren’t really women here at all) and he’s not very nice anyway but even if he did listen to me and try to get them in trouble, they’d just come at me worse next time. Or the instructors would put together some kind of competition where they still got to beat the crap out of me, just with more people watching. 

I told him that I fell down climbing a tree and Darren backed up my story. I know lying is a sin, Grandma, but if God really cared that much he’d stop letting me get beaten up. The medic put some ointment on my hands that burned almost worse than the raw skin by itself did and then wrapped them up in white bandages. I guess there wasn’t much else they do really do. 

Yesterday with it raining so much and spending all day inside made me feel a lot better. I’m sure it was mostly because I could rest, but talking to Darren was nice, too. It’s like I got to turn my head off for a few hours. Not completely, I guess, but just enough that things didn’t seem quite so bad while he was telling me all those stories. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twelve**

Dear Grandma, 

Everything still hurts today, but Darren has been giving me aspirin every day for the past few days. I don’t know where he got it. I tried to ask and he wouldn’t tell me, he just told me to shut up and take it. It sounds mean when I write it out, but his voice wasn’t mean. He was kind of laughing, but not at me. (Which is a departure from the norm.) 

It didn’t take me long to decide that I don’t think I care where he’s getting painkillers from as long as he keeps getting them until my bruises go away. It took the edge off enough that I made it through today. I’m not sure I would have without it. We’re starting our natural disaster training and today we did “simulated tornado relief” in camp. 

It was weird. We had to cut down a bunch of limbs and drag them all around the field, and then we had to go clean them up again. It was supposed to be all about searching for victims and safety. It’s a lot of work but the instructors are always watching us, and that makes it better for me because people leave me alone when we’re being monitored. It’s when the instructors go away that it gets bad. 

At least the cadets that beat me up the other day couldn’t do anything else to me with people watching. They ignored me pretty much anyway, I guess they got their fill of mindless violence for a few days at least. I saw one of them drop a really heavy tool on his foot and that was satisfying. 

The tornado relief training reminded me of one of the movies I used to watch at your house, the one with the little girl and the witch. I remember when I went home and I started singing that song the scarecrow sings and Mom asked me what that was from and I told her and she got so mad. She wasn’t mad at me, though - she was mad at you. I don’t think I got to go see you again for a few weeks after that. I remember you telling me that there was a book too and that when I was a little older and learned how to read that we could read the book together. 

I have to go now, it’s almost time for lights out. Maybe one day I’ll remember what it’s called and find the book. I think I’d like that.

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Thirteen**

Dear Grandma, 

I’m sorry I didn’t have time to write to you today. 

I spend my whole break passing notes with Darren. Since they don’t give us much paper or things we could actually use to pass notes back and forth we used our Bibles, tucking bits of paper inside them. I used some of the papers that I hid away for writing you, so that might mean a few of my letters are only one page. Somehow… I don’t think you’ll actually mind. 

One of the things he tried to do was get me to play this game that he called MASH. He wrote out all the instructions for me and it still took me a while before I understood what he was even talking about. You have to make lists of different things - who you’re going to marry, what your job will be, how many kids you’ll have, where you want to live, and what kind of car you want to drive. 

I refused to play. It didn’t seem like fun at all to me. It felt like a trick. Who am I supposed to put down that I might marry? The only girls I know are in my church group. Even if I were interested in anyone there’s only a few of them left and they’re all either too young for me or promised to other boys, even if I actually wanted any of them. And I don’t. I don’t want any of them at all. Just thinking about having to put their names down made me feel sick to my stomach. Where would I live? I’ve never lived anywhere but Clovis. How would I know what other places I’d like? 

I scribbled through the game he drew out, so much so that the pencil almost ripped the paper. I handed it back to him without adding anything else and I didn’t really know if I should look at him or not because I was sure he would just be done talking (or, writing, I guess) to me after that. But he waited a few minutes and then he started writing notes again, telling me that I should look outside because two squirrels were play-fighting. 

(The squirrels were not, we realized, fighting at all. Once Darren realized that he almost laughed and it was so funny bc he couldn’t make any noise or we’d get in trouble but he wanted to laugh so badly that his face turned all red and he was biting his lip. I almost laughed that hard just looking at him trying not to laugh. 

It was worth it, even if it was stupid, because we’d both be in so much trouble if we got caught, but Grandma… he’s actually nice. I don’t know if I should trust him, but I think I like him. He came after me when I was hurt, and he found me medicine, and today he said he likes to think of things that might make me laugh. He got a little weird and shy after that and tried to talk about how he’s a class clown and he always likes making people laugh. It’s probably true. I know I’m not really special. But… it would be so nice to have a friend. 

Love,  
Chris

*

*

**Day Fourteen**

Dear Grandma, 

We had a skills demonstration today. That’s where a bunch of people all get together to watch us act out the stuff we’ve learned. We’re timed and graded on it and if we mess it up or don’t get it done in the time frame then… well, it’s unpleasant for us afterward. 

It was the demonstration for the tornado relief rescue scenarios that we have been doing for the past few days. And… I messed it up, Grandma. At least they’re all saying I did. We were supposed to be able to make a rope bridge to transport victims in an emergency situation and I was supposed to help secure the rope and I did, Grandma, I swear I did my part. There were six of us pulling - it couldn’t have just been me. But it wasn’t secure enough and we had to start over. We got it done the second time, but they always tells us that wasted time is wasted lives and our laziness and ineptitude can kill people. There was so much yelling when everyone left and it was just us with the instructor. 

It doesn’t matter that we got everything else perfect the right time. Messing up once is all it really takes here. I hate being yelled at so much. But I hate it even more when I know that no one else is going to get in as much trouble as me. It really doesn’t take much for people to catch onto the whole concept of ganging up on the runt of the litter to save their own selves. And gee, guess who the runt of the litter is? Yeah. Me. 

So when the instructor asked who wasn’t pulling their weight, everyone else all told him it was me. Not a single person was willing to speak up and defend me - not even me. There wouldn’t have been any point. It would have just made things worse. So now I have latrine cleaning duty for the next week. It’s the worst job and if someone’s pulled duty who they don’t like, they leave it extra messy. It’s disgusting, Grandma. They’re all pigs. Cleanliness is supposed to be next to Godliness, but I guess they haven’t had any sermons about that yet in their home churches because none of them even know how to aim. 

Sorry. That might be crude of me. I just hate it, Grandma. I hate being here and I hate these cruel people and I hate everything right now. I don’t care if it’s a sin or not. I don’t want to be here. 

Love,  
Chris 

*

**Day Fifteen**

Dear Grandma, 

I’m sorry my letter yesterday was so bad. If you were here right now you’d probably be telling me to put my sunshine face on no matter how many stormclouds are on the inside. I’m trying. I promise. 

Darren helped me clean tonight. 

I told him how much trouble he’d get into if he got caught helping me out, since this is my punishment. He said he didn’t care. 

I don’t know how he can act so casual about it. I’m scared for him. I don’t understand him. 

He asked me if I liked musicals. I told him about the one that I watched with you when I was a kid and he knew exactly what it was! It’s called The Wizard of Oz and he said he’s seen it a bunch of times. I haven’t seen any other ones besides that. He just laughed and said that was a musical but he was asking me if I liked musicals that were live plays, not just movies. He told me about a play he’s actually seen on Broadway in New York that’s about the movie that we liked, except it’s more about the two witches than it is the little girl. He said he likes it better than the movie. He sang a little bit of one of the songs under his breath, so no one else walking by outside would hear. 

He has a really nice voice, Grandma. Is it wrong to think he has a nice voice? That’s not sinful, is it? I’m trying, Grandma. I’m trying really hard. God gave him a nice voice and I’m just appreciating the Lord’s work. 

(That’s probably a technicality, isn’t it?) 

Love,  
Chris

* 

**Day Sixteen**

Dear Grandma,

Darren sang me another song today. He said it was from something called Cabaret and he laughed when I said I’d never seen it. He told me he wasn’t all that surprised. I made him tell me what it was about and he just laughed and said it was complicated and he wasn’t really sure if that was ‘beginner level.’ It felt like he was laughing at me, but it didn’t feel mean like when the other guys do it. 

I asked him what was beginner level and he told me that maybe I needed to start with The Sound of Music. He did actually tell me what it was about and it sounds kind of nice. He sang one song about being sixteen and he looked at me and smiled at me the whole time. 

It’s probably strange that the best part of my day is my punishment now. I don’t think that’s really what punishment is supposed to be like. I’m still not even sure how Darren has permission to not be doing anything during this block of time. He’s a mystery but I am afraid if I question it then he might stop being able to. 

We talked a lot again. He wanted to tell me secrets. I panicked a little at first thinking that he meant my big secret, but I don’t think he did. When he saw how nervous I was he told me that he’d go first and then he started talking about how sometimes when he’s at home he and his brother sneak out of the house and they go down to where the water is and meet up with their friends. 

He asked me again to tell him a secret, so I told him one. Not - not that secret. But something I haven’t told anyone else before ever. I told him that when Mom started taking me to my homeschool book club study program once a week that she got the time wrong in the beginning. I had to explain to him what the book club study program even was, how we are assigned a book by an approved Christian author once a week and we are supposed to read the book at home and then we meet up to talk about it. That part isn’t the secret, though. The secret is that she thought it was supposed to start at 5:30 and it doesn’t, it starts at six. It was just 5:30 for that first meeting. I never corrected her. I didn’t actually lie to her, I just never told her that she was wrong. Every week I use that half an hour that I am there without Mom and without having to be in the meeting to read other books, books that I wouldn’t ever be allowed to take home and read. 

The secret that I told Darren is that I read the whole Harry Potter book series half an hour at a time over the past three years. His eyes go so big and he laughed so hard and he told me I was a total ‘badass.’ I know that’s a bad word, but he didn’t really mean it badly. In fact, I think it meant it in a really, really nice way. 

He told me he’d keep my secret, and then he wanted to talk about Harry Potter so we talked about that for the next hour. Grandma, it was kind of perfect. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Seventeen**

Dear Grandma,

One of the instructors locked me in a closet for five hours today. He did it because one of the boys in my unit went to him and said that I was trying to touch him inappropriately. 

The instructor didn’t even shout at me. He just stared at me until I felt like I was going to be sick. Then he put a Bible in my hand and said that I should hold tight to that book because it was going to be my only salvation, if there even was a chance for my damned soul. He called me a lot of bad names. He said a lot of bad things about me. Some of them I’d never even heard before. 

But I didn’t cry. Are you proud of me for that? I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s like something inside me just shut down. All I could think was that this man didn’t know me. He couldn’t see inside me. Then he told me to get into the prayer closet. It’s just a tiny room that has one little light bulb up top and a chair in it. The point of it is just… well, to lock someone in with their Bible until the instructors feel that the lesson has been learned. He didn’t even tell me what lesson I was supposed to be learning. That’s another reason why it didn’t even make me cry. I know I didn’t do what that boy said I did. I know that it’s just a game to them, to see how they can get me in trouble and how far they can push it. They know they’ll always win. I know it, too. 

I can’t believe it took three whole weeks for this to happen. Last year someone did it the very first week. I didn’t, though, Grandma. I wouldn’t do that. I know it’s wrong. This wasn’t even that bad. They think it’s punishment but the truth is that it was probably the most calm five hours I’ve spent here this summer, at least up until the last one when I had to go to the bathroom really badly. I wrote three whole stories in my head. I hope I remember them by the time I get back home. I miss being able to write things in my own notebooks and hide them all over my room. Writing letters to you helps me a lot, Grandma, but it just isn’t quite the same. 

Darren is the one that let me out. I asked him how he had the key and he said it didn’t matter. I thought we were going to get in even worse trouble. I almost didn’t leave. But he reminded me that he didn’t get in trouble for helping me out during punishments or for giving me the pills when I was so beat up. He told me not to worry about it, and he touched my face and my shoulders and my arms to make sure I was really okay. He even hugged me. I don’t really know what to say about that, to be honest, Grandma. Hugs are alright, aren’t they? You hug people in your family, so they must not be that bad. 

I told him it was fine. I told him I was fine. He was way more upset than I was. It’s kind of funny, I got locked in the closet as punishment but he’s the one that was so horrified. He kept saying over and over to me that what they were doing to me was bad - well, he didn’t use those words, he had other words. His words were pretty bad too, but hearing how angry he was kind of made me happy, Grandma. 

I probably shouldn’t keep talking to Darren. I think that what I’m feeling is a bad thing, and that if Mom or Dad or anyone here or my preacher knew that they would forbid me from seeing him again. It’s so unfair that he’s the only thing about the place that feels good, and he’s probably the worst thing here for me. I really am weak, I think, because even though I know it’s the wrong decision I don’t want to stop having him here. I want to be able to see him every day and talk to him every day. It makes me feel just a little bit less miserable. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Eighteen**

Dear Grandma, 

Yesterday when I wrote to you about how I thought I should probably not be as close to Darren as I am, I thought that because I felt like it was me that was weak and that I would ruin everything by feeling the way I feel. 

Darren tried to kiss me today. 

I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t even really think about it much. Once when I was little I asked Mom why grown ups liked to kiss and she explained to me that the only grown ups that should be kissing are the ones who are married, and that kissing is part of what makes Mommies and Daddies have children. I told her it just looked gross to me. I didn’t understand how it was supposed to be good, because your mouth is where you put food in and chew it up and I think when I was a kid I just imagined that kisses would be like bits of food going back and forth, like how birds feed their kids. I know kids come up with silly ideas all the time but it didn’t seem any sillier to me than imagining wanting to kiss a girl. 

It still doesn’t, Grandma. I guess somewhere along the way I just assumed that one day I’ll get married and once I’m married I’ll want to kiss a girl. That’s all I ever thought about, because all the rest of the thoughts that might want to form in my head needed to just stay locked away forever. 

Until Darren tried to unlock it. Until Darren tried to kiss me. 

I freaked out, Grandma. I screamed at him and I started crying and I shoved at him until he went away. All I could think was how if he kissed me everything would be ruined. I know he probably thinks I hate him because I sounded so mad but I wasn’t really mad at him. I guess I was a little bit, and right then if you had asked me I would have said I was, but it’s only been a few hours and I already know that I wasn’t mad at him at all, I was mad at myself. Because I wanted him to kiss me and I was mad that I couldn’t let that happen and not feel like I was really ruining it all. I know what I feel but I also know what I’ve been taught my whole life, and I don’t even think it matters what is actually right and what is actually wrong. What matters is how other people would see it. 

Everyone would see me as a sinner. I was scared, Grandma. I was scared of that. I’m still scared of it. I don’t think I know how to feel anything but this. He probably won’t ever talk to me again. He’s my only friend here but I don’t want to be wrong, Grandma. I don’t want to be bad. I want Mom and Dad to love me and I want God to love me and I don’t want to give in to sin just because it’s in my heart, and in my head, and probably in every other part of me too, just filling me up. Everything about me is wrong but I can pretend to be right. 

You always told me I was perfect just the way I was, but you were the only person who ever thought so. 

I didn’t let him kiss me. I did the right thing. His face was right there. I could almost feel his mouth touching mine. I could hardly do anything at first, I was so scared. I was scared. But I acted in time. I made sure he didn’t. I told him what a freak he was. I did the right thing. 

Why am I crying, Grandma? Why doesn’t this feel better? 

Love,  
Chris 

*

**Day Nineteen**

Dear Grandma,

Darren talked to me again today. He sat down beside me at lunch and he pretended like nothing happened at all. I know he’s a sinner and he’s wrong, and how he makes me feel is wrong, but I also know the only way I’ll make it through the end of camp without being hurt again is to have him sitting beside me. The other guys can try to get him in trouble all they want but the instructors won’t do anything. 

I’ll tell myself that’s the only reason I want him around, at least. I’ll be honest with you but I’ll lie to myself. 

Is God testing me? Is that the trick? I have to pass his test before he answers any of my prayers? Or is the real truth that my whole life is going to be a test and it’s not one I can pass. Should pleasing God make me so miserable? I guess I know the answer to that already. 

I want to ask Darren how he’s fine with being so wrong. Doesn’t he understand that the Bible says bad things about people who are like him? Why doesn’t it bother him at all? Why doesn’t he look like he’s losing sleep at night? Doesn’t he have parents who make him read about Sodom and Gomorrah every night? What is his life and why does he seem so happy? 

I’m so glad he sat back down beside me. 

Love,  
Grandma

*

**Day Twenty**

Dear Grandma, 

We did firefighting today. My arms are sore from the axes and shovels we had to use and every time I breathe I feel like I’m going to choke. They had us build little shelters yesterday so that we could set them on fire today, with items and dummies inside that we had to rescue. They had to be in good enough shape to survive to count as a pass. And there was so much smoke and my axe was so heavy and I felt like my chest was so tight by the time I finally broke through the door we had to clear to “rescue” the dummy inside. But we did rescue it and it was deemed fit enough for a pass so at least I don’t have to deal with going through that again. 

Darren looked pretty bad, too. The instructor told him that he could sit out and catch his breath but Darren wouldn’t. The instructor praised him and told everyone else that this was the kind of endurance that gets rewarded in life. 

Darren made a rude gesture behind his back, where only I could see. It almost made me laugh. Wouldn’t that have been great? And by great, I mean very not great. The worst thing ever, probably. There isn’t a lot of laughter around here, except late at night when some of the cadets will gather and talk in whispers. I do my best to never hear what it is they’re laughing about, because I think sometimes it’s probably me. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-One**

Dear Grandma,

We only have a week left here. 

It’s weird how time feels like it stretches on forever. Two weeks ago, I didn’t know who Darren was and now talking to him is the only good part of my day. It doesn’t even seem to matter that we don’t talk about that one thing that happened. I didn’t forget it and I don’t think he forgot it either but as long as we don’t talk about it, everything is fine. 

Except that I still can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not even just what kissing him would be like. I try not to think about that at all. I just think about him, like, all of him. I want to know who he is when he leaves here. I want to know what all he does in his life that I don’t get to do. I want to know what experiences he’s already had that I am not sure I’ll ever have. He knows how to play musical instruments and gets to play with a band and he can listen to pretty much whatever music he wants. He can go to the movies and see anything that he can get into and there are nightclubs, he says, where you don’t have to be over 18 to get in. I bet he dances with people and doesn’t have to keep a person’s width between them, like the rule at the home school social functions Mom used to try and make me go to. 

He’s been so many places in the world, too. He’s been to Italy and France and England and the Philippines and he was born in Hawaii and his brother is planning on moving to New York once he finishes school. Mom and Dad don’t even talk about me going to college yet. I know I still have a couple of years, but I get good scores back on all my assessments. I just don’t know if the way that the homeschool programs assess me are even the same as the way that people learn in real schools. It’s been so long since I even went to one. I would like to go to college, though. I don’t know what I want to do as a job, but I know I will need to make money and be on my own at some point. That’s scary to think of, but the part that comes before - going to a college and learning lots of things - I think could want that, Grandma. I think I do want it, I just didn’t know that until Darren started talking to me about it. 

Any time Mom mentions me getting a job it’s just helping my uncle with his tree cutting business, or using the things I am supposed to be learning at camp to be a volunteer fireman. I can’t even drive yet so I don’t know how she’d really expect me to do that. I think she feels like just saying it actually means something, even if I can’t really do it. I felt that way too until I talked to Darren and realized that some people don’t want on God to tell you the plan, they just make the plan up for themselves. 

I still can’t decide if God is testing me by giving me Darren, or if there’s just a lesson I’m supposed to learning here. Mom always says God works in mysterious ways, but I’d like him to be a little less mysterious if this isn’t some kind of trick. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-Two**

Dear Grandma,

Tonight was our twenty-four hour hike. 

It was awful. It rained half the day and our path was muddy. I fell three times. Darren had to help me up once. My pack was covered in mud and it clung to my shoes until it dried. 

Darren was miserable, too. He was cold and shaking, just like me. But we couldn’t take out any dry clothes because they’d just get wet like the ones we were wearing. 

The only good thing about it is when we got our hour break. It was dark, past midnight, and the rain had finally stopped. We sat there against the same log hidden just away from everyone else. No one noticed. No one cared. Everyone was busy trying to rest. 

It was so quiet, Grandma. The moon was full and we could hear the animals in the forest around us. I wanted to cry because I was so glad not to be walking anymore and not to be listening to anyone yelling at me to keep up or stop dragging everyone down. 

I did cry a little. Does that make me less of a man? I was just so tired, and it was so nice to be sitting beside him and I realized in less than a week I might never see him again. So I cried and Darren saw me and - 

Grandma, he held my hand. One minute I was sitting there trying not to make a sound with tears on my face and the next his hand was in mine. He looked so scared and so sad, like he was just waiting for me to yell at him again. 

I didn’t yell at him. I’ve never held hands with anyone else before, but it was nice. I know he’s a boy and I’m not supposed to want it but I didn’t feel bad at all. It made me feel stronger to know that he was right there. 

He held my hand the whole hour and once we headed back toward camp he walked as close to me as he could. We couldn’t really talk, because we aren’t supposed to talk on the hikes. At least, no one does, so it would seem weird if me and Darren did. It’s not like they ever told us it’s a rule, but there are lots of things here that you get in trouble for doing even if you haven’t actually been told not to do them. 

I think holding hands with another boy probably falls under the same umbrella, actually. Though now I want to laugh just thinking about getting caught and telling them that they couldn’t punish me because it wasn’t against the rules. I wonder if any of the other boys here ever held hands? If, in the long history of this camp, there has ever been another boy like me who met a boy like Darren? I think probably so, though they might not have had the chances to spend time together that Darren and I had. I still don’t understand why, but I think I’m going to ask him soon. I know there has to be something going on. There’s some reason he can do whatever he wants and no one says anything about it. I’ve been so busy worrying about myself that I haven’t spent much time wondering about him, but now I am. 

Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe it’s all just some big trick they’re all playing on me. 

Love,  
Chris

 

**Day Twenty-Three**

Dear Grandma, 

Today wasn’t so bad. We had to work on knots and rope work, and I’m not bad at that. It reminds me of when I used to “help” while you were sewing or doing your knitting. With the knitting especially, you’d just give me a ball of yarn - probably your leftovers, now that I think about it - and let me play with it. The same thing would happen every time, I’d end up with the yarn all knotted and I’d cry and ask you to fix it for me but you’d just tell me that I got myself in that mess so I needed to figure out how to get myself back out again. Sometimes you’d help, wiggling the knitting needle under it to loosen the knot up, but sometimes you’d just leave me to figure out how to untangle it all on my own. 

At some point putting the yarn in knots then pulling them back out again became more fun than whatever make believe scenario I was coming up with in the beginning. We don’t use yarn for this, we use survival cords and rope, but it’s still the same. I like how much of a puzzle it is. Other boys in my unit get frustrated and mad when the rope won’t do what they want and their fingers don’t move as well but my knots always come out tidy and strong. 

I might not be able to climb them, but at least I can apparently make them? Tomorrow we’re supposed to apply the knowledge and skill we gained today on the construction of a rope bridge. At least it doesn’t involve climbing again. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-Four**

Dear Grandma,

Darren and I got paired for partner Bible Study again. It’s the fifth time it’s happened in two weeks. I asked Darren how he thought it was happening and he said he requested it. 

I thought he was telling a joke, but he didn’t laugh. He was serious. I asked him why I was supposed to believe that they would let a cadet decide who he got paired with for anything and he told me he had a secret to tell me, but that he would tell me later. 

When I was little and you would bake cookies you always used to fuss at me for trying to take cookies from the tray just out of the oven, before they had a chance to cool. You would tell me that patience is a virtue and that I was a little stinker who needed to learn some. I thought I did, over the years, but I guess maybe not enough because having to wait through the entire Bible Study lesson to know what secret Darren was keeping from me was awful. I felt like I had jumping beans in my stomach for the entire hour. 

When Bible Study was over and we were supposed to go to chore duty Darren came with me. I guess I never really noticed how he doesn’t seem to have chores like the rest of us do. He gets the really easy stuff that doesn’t take very long at all. That makes sense now, though - because of his secret. 

His grandmother owns the camp. Not completely, but she bought out one of the owners who was selling his share in it or something. Darren said a lot of really business sounding words that I don’t remember. He said that his parents and his grandmother are really rich, though, and she thought she was buying a camp for kids and that’s why she sent him here. He knew it was religious but he didn’t want to disappoint her so he agreed to come anyway. That’s why he never got punishments for breaking the rules and he never had to do any of the hard chores and how the instructors all paid a lot of attention to make sure that none of the other cadets were being mean to him.

He said he’s going to tell her how awful it is and maybe she can do something about it. He seemed really excited about that and I think he wanted me to be excited too but I think it won’t be as easy to change this place as he believes it is. I hope he’s right, though. 

I asked him why he didn’t already call his grandmother and tell her how bad it was already. I know everyone has gone really easy on him but he’s still had to stick to the same schedule that we all had to. Darren probably could have spent the whole summer in San Francisco with his friends but instead he stayed here. 

He told me that he stayed for me, because he didn’t want to leave me alone. 

I didn’t cry when he said that but I guess maybe it looked like I was going to because Darren put his arms around me and he hugged me. It felt really nice, Grandma. 

Love,  
Chris 

*

**Day Twenty-Five**

Dear Grandma,

I had a nightmare last night. It’s like the ones that I have back at home sometimes. I don’t usually sleep well enough here to even have them, but I guess last night I did. 

I don’t really feel like talking about what most of the nightmare was, but Darren was there and so were my parents and everyone was saying really awful things to me. 

At the end, though - that was the worst part. At the end of it Darren kissed me again and I let him kiss me but as soon as I reached out to touch him suddenly he was on the other side of the room as me and he was laughing. He sounded so mean. I’ve never heard him sound like that at all before, but I can still hear it in my head right now. Then he was gone and my little sister was telling me that it was all my fault, and she wasn’t mad but she was crying. 

I wouldn’t talk to Darren at breakfast this morning at first but he kept bugging me until I finally said it was because I had a bad dream. I didn’t tell him what it was about but I said he was in it and my Mom and Dad were in it and I stopped there because I think if I’d started talking about Hannah I might not have been able to stop myself from telling him everything. 

I don’t even know if he’d be mad if I had told him everything, but somehow I just can’t. It’s like there are times when I can think something in my head and I know it’s true and there’s no point in denying it, but then other times all I can think about is how bad everything will be if I actually say it out loud. Maybe some people are brave like that, but I’m not. I don’t think I’ll be able to say anything out loud until it feels like the whole world won’t hate me, and I don’t know if that’ll ever happen. 

It feels almost possible when Darren’s holding my hand, though, I guess. He didn’t hold my hand today, of course, we were surrounded by all those other people. But he had that same look on his face like when he’s about to. It was almost as nice just to see him looking like that as the hand holding would have been. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-Six**

Dear Grandma, 

Today we had to spend all day cleaning the camp. 

It was fun, actually, because Darren stayed with me all day long. We got put on laundry duty washing polos and khakis and uniforms that we won’t be wearing again before we all go home in a couple of days. We just sat there for hours and hours, all afternoon, loading up the machines and unloading them and then making sure they were all set to go to back to the right bunks and delivering them back. One time when Darren went to go take some of the uniforms and drop them off he came back with snacks. I don’t even know where he got them from but we had cookies and milk. 

It was definitely the weirdest day I’ve ever spent here. I made Darren tell me so many stories. I even made him tell me what his school was like and what kind of classes he took and what kind of books he had to read for the classes. He told me I was totally weird but he still answered all of my questions. The way he said it made weird sound like it was a good thing. I don’t think it’s supposed to be. I think to most people who have the kind of life that he has and don’t have every move they make revolve around church would think the kind of weird that I am is the bad kind of weird. Darren is just too nice to actually say that to me. But he likes me, so maybe he likes my weirdness because it’s mine. I definitely think he’s weird but I like it. 

People are confusing, Grandma. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve been homeschooled basically since forever. I remember reading the Harry Potter books and at first it seemed like it would be perfect to go to a school with friends who liked me and always had my back but then as Harry and Ron and Hermione all got older things got more confusing for them too and I stopped thinking it would always be good. 

It must be worth it though, right? That’s the point of the stories, after all. That friendship prevails and everyone lives happily ever after. When I write stories they’re always just about one person, though. I try to have a happy ending but it’s hard when happiness and being alone don’t seem 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-Seven**

Dear Grandma, 

We only have one day left here. 

This is the first time I’ve ever not wanted to leave camp. Today was another day of packing up our things and going through inspections. I was told my bunk and area were ‘barely at standard’ but it doesn’t matter. I get to leave in two more days. I have to leave in two days, whether I want to or not. 

It’s strange how the idea of staying is awful, because I do hate the workouts they put us through and I hate having to learn all these rescue things and skills that I’ll never use and I hate the Bible lessons and I hate how everyone else hates me. 

But Darren held my hand again today, and I liked that. I liked it a lot.

I asked him to sing me a song and he sang an old hymn and I started to cry. I cry so much lately, but it felt better this time. I wasn’t crying because everything seemed bad, I was crying because for the first time since you left I feel like someone isn’t looking at me and wishing I could become something different. 

He told me that if God is real he probably loves me just the way I am. You used to tell me that, Grandma. I believed it when you said it. 

I think I believe it when he says it, too. 

Love,  
Chris

*

**Day Twenty-Eight**

Dear Grandma,

I’m sorry my letter yesterday was so short. I spent most of the night with Darren. I didn’t get any sleep, but I don’t feel that bad. I’m going home in a few hours. Sleeping would have been wasting time. I was nervous about sneaking out and staying out all night at first. I think at least one of the guys saw me when I left, but he didn’t say anything. I don’t really know why. He’s not one of the ones that ever really went after me or tried to hurt me, but he never stood up for me either. 

No one did. No one but Darren. 

But this guy saw me leaving and he didn’t say anything. It made me stop and wonder if maybe he was just doing the same thing I was doing, only better at it. If maybe he was just keeping his head above water and making it through til camp is over. 

I don’t know. He could have gotten me in a lot of trouble, but he didn’t, so I guess I’ll just be glad for that. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I don’t know that cadet, and he doesn’t know me. After today I never have to see him again. 

I’m not coming back here. I’m never coming back here, Grandma. It doesn’t matter what Mom and Dad say. I can’t be back here again. 

They wouldn’t let me back in anyway, not if they knew what I did last night. 

Grandma, it was amazing. Darren took me down by the lake and he held my hand the whole way. He said it was so we wouldn’t trip in the dark but it was just an excuse. I didn’t care. I still don’t think I would have been brave enough to reach for him, but I was happy when he did it. 

Once we were at the lake he spread out this blanket that he’d brought in his backpack. He had snacks and two sodas - apparently there’s a machine in the special lounge area for instructors that has actual good stuff in it. It was basically a picnic. We had a picnic under the moonlight by the lake and it was actually pretty. For once I feel like I could see why Mom thinks it must be peaceful and beautiful. Without anyone but me and Darren there, it was. 

He asked me if was still mad at him for what he tried to do. I didn’t even really understand what he was asking me at first. I think he was afraid to say it. He might have been blushing, but it was dark so I couldn’t really tell. He finally said it out loud: he asked me if I was mad at him for when he tried to kiss me. 

I told him I wasn’t. I said I was sorry for what I did and that it was just hard. I didn’t really know what words to use to make him understand, but I’m not sure I needed to because he got it anyway. 

He told me he only did it because he likes me so much. I almost wanted to cry when he said that, but it was that happy feeling making my throat feel funny. I said I didn’t understand why he liked he and he just laughed really softly and said it was because I was smart and funny and must be strong to go through what I’ve gone through. He said he liked all the questions I had and that talking to me made him wish he could take me all over the world and show me all the things he knew I’d like. I don’t know how he knows what I’d like, but it made me feel good to hear him say that. 

I guess that’s why I told him he could kiss me again, if he even still wanted to. It’s funny because when I said it he was leaning on his elbow and my words surprised him so much that he actually fell right over. I laughed at him because it was funny but also because everything felt so overwhelming and I wasn’t expecting him to fall and laughing was the only thing I could do. Then he started laughing too and I think we were almost in tears again just from how funny it was, even though it wasn’t really that funny at all. 

He asked me if I was serious, if I really really meant it, and he said he didn’t want to mess things up with me and then I just - I leaned over, and I kissed him. I kissed him right on the mouth. 

I only did it once. I kind of wanted to do it more but I didn’t know how to work the nerve up a second time. 

I kissed a boy, Grandma. I kissed him a few times last night, and the world didn’t end. I didn’t wake up this morning feeling like a worse person. The only demon breathing down my neck is the anxiety I always feel, but I think last night I realized that the thing I’m afraid of isn’t how I feel inside, it’s fear of how other people will treat me if they know. I’m not any less afraid. I think kissing Darren just made me realize that it doesn’t matter if I’m afraid or not, I don’t think I can change myself. This is who I am. 

Darren told me that I didn’t really need to worry so much. He’s wrong. I do think I need to worry. My life isn’t the same as his life. He told me that there are places in the world where I won’t be judged and that I can have friends and people who love me and it’ll be okay. He’s naive, Grandma; cute, but naive. The fact that there are people who could still accept me doesn’t change the fact that my family probably won’t, and that I love my family and I don’t want them to hate me. 

I don’t really know what’s going to happen when I go home, but I think something will be different. There’s no way it’ll be the same, because I’m not the same. 

If I focus all my time on my schoolwork and don’t take breaks, I can finish my coursework in a year. I can stop reading books for fun with my library time and read books that will help me learn the things the homeschool program won’t teach me. I can find books on the GED test and figure out if I can even pass it or not. 

It’s really scary to think about, but it’s not the same kind of scared that I feel when I think about staying just the way I am and living the life that I am supposed to live. I feel scared and hopeful for the first time in my life. 

Darren gave me his phone number and his email address and his home address. He made me promise to stay in touch with him. He told me that he really liked me, more than he’s ever liked anyone else before. I don’t really know how he can like me that much when he doesn’t even know me. When I don’t even really feel like I know myself. My whole life has just been about what I can’t do, and what I shouldn’t do, and who I can’t be - not about who I am. 

But I think I will try to write him letters. I don’t want to think that today will be the last time I ever see him, especially since I won’t even really be able to say goodbye. I can write him letters and maybe figure out how to make an email account and keep it hidden from Mom and Dad and we’ll still be able to talk. There are computers at the library but I’ve always been too afraid of being caught to try and use them, but I think I probably could. 

He’s the first real friend I’ve ever made. He’s the first real… something, I’ve ever had. I’ll talk to him again. I’ll make sure of it. I will probably need someone to help me feel brave, and he does that. 

I have to go soon, Grandma. We have a closing ceremony and then I get to leave. I’m excited to see Hannah and Mom and Dad and to go home and sleep in my own bed tonight. Thank you for letting me write to you while I was away. It doesn’t matter that you’ll never read these. Just feeling like I’m talking to you still makes everything better. 

I hope you’d be proud of me. 

Love,  
Chris

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sarah for the word wars, Robert for the art and hand holding, and Mav and mermaid for the many hours of listening to me whine about how hard this was to write. 
> 
> Read and reblog on tumblr!


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